Encounter
by Mecha Rush
Summary: One-shot. Not very sure about the genre./"Let's be honest here. If you really wanted to, you could kill Orihara Izaya, couldn't you? When you corner him, that switchblade of his doesn't really affect you, does it? So... Like you always go around saying... Why don't you just kill him, Heiwajima-san?"


**AN:** Ohmygosh I had no idea what I was thinking when I wrote this. I just wrote. Derp. I should be working on my other story. No, actually, I should be working on my homework. And cleaning my room. I'm such a fantastic procrastinator!

I'm very worried that neither Shizuo or Izaya are IC, but I hope you enjoy this pointless one-shot anyway... :D

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A man walked calmly down the streets of Ikebukuro, his tranquil exterior contrasting his inner turmoil. His blonde hair swayed as he took his strides, the sun highlighting the top strands. He walked aimlessly, his blue shades hiding where his eyes were looking. Several cuts could be seen on his bartender suit, but the man took no notice.

Shizuo had too many thoughts running through his head, more than he could handle.

_"Let's be honest here."_

The blonde man stopped walking, deciding to sit down on a brick ledge.

_"If you really wanted to, you could kill Orihara Izaya, couldn't you?"_

He took a smoke out, placing it between his lips.

_"When you corner him, that switchblade of his doesn't really affect you, does it?"_

Lit it carefully. Drew a long breath—

_"So... Like you always go around saying..."_

And let it out.

_"Why don't you just kill him, Heiwajima-san?"_

The man drew a blank, unable to draw an answer to defend himself. As much as he wanted to blame that _flea_ for everything, if Shizuo had wanted to kill him for real, he could. Shizuo knew. Although he would hate to admit it, he had the capability to kill pretty much any normal human being — although, he couldn't really assume that his most hated enemy was normal. Who was the bastard that had questioned him anyway? Maybe he should kill him first—

There he went, making excuses to himself again.

It didn't matter who the man had been, and it didn't matter if Izaya was crazy or not; although he probably was. The raven's thin figure was fragile enough for Shizuo to bruise with a single tight hold. Fragile enough for Shizuo to snap with a little more force.

He knew this.

The man stood up, letting his cigarette fall to the floor. He ground it with his foot, while he put a hand in his golden hair and tousled it.

"... Ah, fuck it," he said, putting his hands in his pockets and began walking aimlessly again.

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Orihara Izaya stood in front of his grand glass window, staring down at the busy streets of Shinjuku. It was dark, and he knew that soon, most of his little humans would begin to rush home; deserting the once busy streets, excluding a few of the odd ones. The raven-haired man smirked after one minute, as soon as he saw people waving at each other; groups becoming smaller and members heading off in diverse directions.

The man swiveled around, and proceeded to walk towards his desk. He took a seat, reviewing both the paper and computer work he had accomplished for the day. Grabbing his cup of coffee that had been deserted on the desk, he leaned back and took a sip.

There had been no miscalculations today. All of his predictions had gone smoothly, just the way he had meant them to be.

Izaya sat, content that his observations had not misdirected him. Now, there was nothing left on the schedule other than to rest, when—

His front door was torn open.

Izaya placed a coy smile on his face to greet the one monster he knew that could possibly do this, and would do such a thing at this late hour.

"Shizu-chan ~ How kind of you to pay me a visit. Although, I must confess, I was sort of enjoying my day without seeing your face."

Heiwajima Shizuo slowly walked in, not bothering to take off his shoes.

"Oh do come in, come in! Right, invite yourself right in! Did your parents not teach you any manners, Shizu-chan?"

The said man stopped walking, taking off his blue shades and hooking them on his bartender suit.

"What...?" the blond asked, his voice getting dark. His head was already starting to hurt from hearing _Izaya-kun_'s voice, and his nostrils flared from smelling the flea.

"I asked, _did your parents not teach you any manners, Shizu-chan_. Has your brain degraded itself so much to the point where you can no longer understand Japanese? It's rude to barge into someone's house, but also to invite yourself in."

Shizuo took a step forward, his raging emotions laced heavy in just one step.

Izaya swiveled around, making the back of his chair face his arch nemesis, as he said, "Ah ~ Don't get any closer Shizu-chan! As an informant and an observer, I value my intelligence and knowledge. My brain's degrading from being in your presence already—"

Swiftly closing the space between them, Shizuo grabbed the top of the chair and turned it harshly, forcing himself to stare into those carmine eyes that had always riled him. The cup of coffee the raven had been holding was dropped, shattering with a shrill crack and staining the floor with the contents. Neither men took notice as Izaya stared back, his eyes full of anticipation and challenge. Never did the man seem to be scared of Shizuo, who was always feared by other civilians for his strength.

Unknown to the blonde man, Izaya's head was spinning. All of his observations so far were trying to click in place, creating various possibilities of the brute's next actions, and escape routes. But this man, this _monster –_ was the man that had never acted according to Izaya's predictions. Rarely was the informant's head filled with so many questions.

_Why was he here? _

_What did he want? _

_What will he do this time? _

_What will he say this time? _

_What's he thinking? Never mind, this brute doesn't think._

_So then, what's his reason?_

But on the outside, Izaya looked very calm and collected, just as he had practiced to look like for many years.

He tilted his head, boldly staring into those familiar mocha eyes that were glaring hard at him as strands of his black hair fell across his face. He smiled softly; not enough for him to look happy, but just enough for it to look like a taunting smirk for the brainless blonde.

"... What's wrong, Shizu-chan?"

All of Izaya's questions were answered in the next few seconds. As Shizuo grabbed his throat and slammed him down on the desk, Izaya's heart twisted with a sense of emotion that he could never name before, or now. As soon as he felt those warm fingers at his neck, he flicked out his switchblade, drawing a red line on the blonde's throat as he held the blade there.

Izaya did not miss the fact that very little pressure was being forced on his throat.

"Pfft... Ah ha ha!"

He could not contain his laughter, outright laughing in the middle of a situation that could potentially kill him.

Shizuo stared at the man beneath him, growling at the response he was getting. This was how the flea had always been, looking happiest at the oddest situations. It was always when someone was getting injured during one of his infamous plans, even if he himself was the victim.

And no one else made the famous Informant of Shinjuku a victim, other than Shizuo. Just Shizuo. But even being a victim did not seem to affect the steady gaze of those carmine eyes.

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_"Let's be honest here."_

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"Hey. You're not being very productive here."

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_"If you really wanted to, you could kill Orihara Izaya, couldn't you?"_

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"If you really wanted to, you could kill me, right?"

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_"When you corner him, that switchblade of his doesn't really affect you, does it?"_

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"My cuts don't really do anything to hinder you, do they?"

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_"So... Like you always go around saying..."_

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"So... Like you always tell me..."

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**_"Why don't you just kill him, Heiwajima-san?"_**

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**"Why don't you just kill me, Shizu-chan?"**

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And so Shizuo began to crush the informant's throat.

He watched as the man under him coughed, the hold on his switchblade becoming weak.

Shizuo could feel the blade shivering at his neck, clattering onto the floor soon after from the lack of power to hold its position.

"Ah..."

He watched as the flea began to shudder, sending a wave of chills down his arms.

"Ah..."

Those carmine eyes began to close, tears rolling down the sides of his face.

"Ah..."

Shizuo felt his wrists being close around with cold, lean fingers.

_This bastard was all talk,_ the blonde thought. _As usual. He tells me to kill him and now he's going to stop me—_

"... Do... it..." Izaya managed to choke out.

Shizuo stared at those half-lidded eyes, finest shades of dark red irises looking at him with hope and anticipation. The flea's lips had lost their color, but remained in an honest smile as he spoke his words. Cool fingers were holding his wrists, trembling from the lack of air. This man wasn't struggling against Shizuo's hold at all, and in fact was begging for more. As Shizuo watched, the thin figure gave a violent shudder, and just as his eyes were about to roll back–

Shizuo felt his heart take a sudden twist without warning, causing him to released his hold. Not believing what he had almost done, he took a step back.

Izaya slouched onto the floor and coughed violently, gasping for the breaths of air that his body desperately needed. He shuddered, unable to shake off the chills or stop his tears from painting his cheeks.

With no other words exchanged, the tall blonde man walked away from the gasping raven, trying to erase from his mind the memory of the bruises he had just placed on the young man, a stain on the pale, white skin that marked their encounter tonight.

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Shizuo touched his wrists, recalling those cool fingers that had held them with a trembling hold.

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Izaya touched the bruises on his neck, every touch burning as he remembered those warm fingers that had closed around it.

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He remembered those carmine eyes, staring at him with tears lacing their hazy view.

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He remembered those mocha eyes, glaring at him, burning with many different emotions at once.

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He remembered the trembling, the shuddering, the shaking;

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He remembered the softness, the pressure, then the pain;

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And how his heart had lurched in sudden fear,

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And how his heart had calmed with acceptance,

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Confusion, pain, hate, and one other burning passion he could not name.

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Longing, understanding, hate, and one other burning passion he could not name.

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His hot touch heated the freezing touches,

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His cold touch cooled the burning touches,

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Unable to identify the exact feelings he held for that certain man.

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Unable to accept the exact feelings he felt for that certain man.

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_I guess it'd be easier..._

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"Ah~ I suppose it'd be better..."

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_To just kill that stupid flea._

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"To just kill that stupid brute, ne?"

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_After all, I—_

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"After all, I—"

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_... **Hate** him, right?_

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"... **Hate** him, ne?"

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**R&R~**


End file.
